


i'm making you (sweat)

by ayamirin



Series: told you not to hold you breath [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brendon and Ryan got issues, Crossdressing, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Sorry Not Sorry, This probably isn't a healthy relationship in the making idk, brief mentions of mental illness, sex tourism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 04:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayamirin/pseuds/ayamirin
Summary: During the day, Brendon is a successful marketing executive. At night, Samantha is a feisty prostitute who has a fateful meeting with a john named Ryan.





	i'm making you (sweat)

**Author's Note:**

> please read the warnings. explicit sexy tiems. not beta'd

He shakes his hands. Once. Twice. Three times for an extra measure. He brings his hand up into the dim, overhead light of the shady motel he’s booked for the night. The red has gotten on the cuticle of his fingers, the clear top coat looks even worst, but otherwise the quick nail job looks good. He curls his fingers in and brings them to his lips, gently blowing across the gel-based polish.

The bathroom is tiny and he can barely fit inside. The shower drain had seen better days, rust now corroding around the rim. Brown stains mar the tub on the edges and corners. The toilet bowl is stained, but he kicks the lid down with his foot and rests it on top. What was once a corroded toilet is now a foot rest. He grabs the pair of black thigh high stockings rolled up into a ball on top of the counter directly adjacent to him. He pulls one out, shakes it open, and rolls and sticks his propped up foot inside the nylon. He rolls the stockings slowly up his leg, over his knee and tugs it once at his thigh, releasing it with a snap.

Calloused fingers go over the black nylons, turning rough legs into a smooth illusion of perfect skin. He smiles and glances at himself in the mirror. His hair is hidden under a wig cap, his eyes done up in an attempt at a smokey cat eye, emphasizing their distinctive almond shape. He purses his full lips, pleased at the choice of picking up the glossy candy apple red at the drugstore on the way to the motel. The lightning is bad, but his foundation looks good. The freckles and imperfections are hidden beneath the layers of the liquid foundation.

He hasn’t been doing this long but he’s quickly learned how to make it look good on his face. He looks good. He feels good.

Switching his foot on the toilet lid, the other stocking slips onto his legs. He takes his foot off the lid and straightens up, hands running down his sides, over the soft fabric of the black garter belt and silk panties. His fingers grip onto the clips, he pinches them open, and one followed by the other, clips them onto his tights. Two in the front. Two in the back. He turns around and looks at his reflection in the mirror.

He’s almost there. His transformation is almost complete.

Stepping out the bathroom, he walks over to the twin bed with the tacky, yellow comforter and dingy white sheets. A black pencil skirt and a sheer button down shirt lie on display. At the head of the outfit is a simple, black wig with bangs. He picks up the sheer top and puts it on, slipping his arms through the sleeves gently to not catch the fabric against his freshly done nails. He buttons the top half way, leaving a peek of cleavage. He slips on the pencil skirt, pulling it up and over his hips and zipping it up in the back. He puts the wig on, tugging at it slightly to the left, then forward.

He turns around. There’s a mirror that sits on top of the dresser. It’s cloudy and obviously hasn’t been taken care of. But he doesn’t care; he looks at himself in the mirror. He smiles -- the transformation is complete.

Next to his dress shoes at the foot of his bed are a pair of black three inch pumps. He slips them on and, without looking back, leaves the dingy motel room.

It’s not the best part of town. Police vehicles patrol the streets, slowly driving down looking for suspicious behavior. Drug dealers stand on the corner, pimps watch the corner from their cars parallel parked along the side of the road at their girls. A watchful eye over their shoulders -- some offering some relief against the possibility of a rogue john or, for some, not so lucky watchful eye of making sure they don’t run away.

If he was the other person. The one that wears the suit during the day. The one that sits at the end of the table to his father’s right. He’d be afraid; he would ride through this neighborhood with his car doors locked and his windows up. He wouldn’t stop -- he’d keep going and going until the streets got cleaner, the lights got brighter, and the stores changed from bodegas to Whole Foods.

But he’s not. He’s Samantha. Daring. Feisty. Sexual. Beautiful.

And Samantha runs this street.

There’s a swerve to his hips, an authoritative stance to his walk. Samantha knows what he wants.

And they know. The girls know.

“ Don’t they ask,” One of them, Jennifer, asks Samantha. “ You got a dick. How do you hide that?”

Jennifer is interested. She’s intrigued. She wants to know and Samantha chuckles; there’s no high pitched tone to his voice. It’s low. It’s a baritone. Smooth and young.

“ They don’t care what hole it goes it, darling.” He says as he brings a cigarette to his lips. He sucks in the smoke and exhales slowly. “ They know exactly what they’re getting when they see me. I may have hips but my chest definitely ain’t a woman’s.”

They’re leaning against the brick wall of a shop. The girl has long, brown hair pulled up into a top knot. Her camisole top is falling off her shoulders and the bra she is wearing doesn’t even fit her properly. Her breasts are popping out of the cups that are a size too small. But they’re pushed up into her face and she has legs for days emphasized by her black mini-skirt.

Her makeup is heavy but johns aren’t focused on the face. Most of the time they’re facing the backseat window of a car anyway.

She scratches her arm; there’s tract marks covering the pale underside of her skin, “ You not afraid one of ‘em is gonna kill ya? There’s crazies out there. You know? The ones that hate gays and trannies. You ain’t afraid?”

Samantha stares out into the wet road. The orange light from the street lamps reflect off of the black pavement, painting a beautiful urban mosaic of colors clashing against the blues and reds of neon signs. He takes a drag, deeply, the smoke entering her lungs as the tobacco burns.

“ We are going to die someday, kid,” He says with a cloud of smoke escaping his lungs into the air. “ If some guy kills me, at least I died getting off.”

Samantha laughs. He laughs darkly and flicks the cigarette out into the street. Jennifer scratches her arm again. She breaks a scab open and it starts to bleed. She wipes her arm against her camisole -- streets of blood paint the grey top.

What a sick, sad world he’s joined.

A car slowly pulls up to the sidewalk. It’s a nice car; nothing from the area. A black Toyota Prius and judging by the ‘ No Smoking ‘ sticker on the window, an obvious rental. The window on the passenger side lowers and the driver reveals himself, leaning forward.

“ Hey,” He calls out. “ You. In the black.”

Samantha looks around, despite knowing that there’s no one else there except for him and Jennifer. He points to himself and mouths, ‘ Who me ‘. The driver nods and Samantha walks over to the car. He leans forward, resting an arm against the car, and takes a good look at the john.

Young. Probably no older than thirty-two. He is wearing a nice suit, so obviously works in some field of work that’s paying six figures. No ring, so either he’s not married or he’s a piece of a shit willing to put his partner at risk. Driving a rental, so either here on business or not wanting to mess up the family vehicle.

Samantha is going to charge him double.

“ What is it that you’re interested in, darling?” Samantha asks. An index finger trails along the edge of the open window. “ Is a little boy like you lost and in need of directions?”

Usually they freak out when they find out the tall girl with the dick sucking lips is actually a man. But there's something about plump lips painted in red that’ll get any horny asshole to throw pride aside and channel their inner homosexual. As long as they don't have to hear his voice; which is quite simple to do when you shove a dick in his mouth.

But this driver isn’t shocked; he's amused. He only smirks, raking fingers through his brown hair.

“ And it looks like a little boy is out past his bedtime,” He sits back in his seat and unlocks the door, “ Get in.”

Samantha whistles but opens the door anyway. He gets into the car and shuts the door. The Toyota takes off, the driver not even waiting for Samantha to put on the seat belt. The car drives, and drives, leaving skid row and entering the world that Samantha’s other half resides in. The safe haven of economic prosperity and safety, where status and money guarantees safety and protection from the struggles of an impoverished life.

Samantha shifts in the leather seat. He isn’t from here. He doesn’t live here. Samantha belongs in skid row, with the degenerates and impoverished. He looks at the john and watches him. Nothing. No acknowledgement.

“ Where you taking me?” Samantha asks. The john hums.

“ I rather not fuck in a back alley,” He says. He looks at Samantha and raises an eyebrow, “ Can’t a boy treat a pretty person like you out?”

Samantha purses his lips, then, “ Fine.”

They arrive at a hotel downtown thirty minutes later. They pull up to the valet and the john gets out of the car. Samantha hesitantly steps out. His other half has been here before. Many times for many events and occasions. It’s one of the few five star hotels in the city. The john hands his keys to the valet and hands him a decent tip. Joining Samantha at his side, he can’t help but notice how tall he is. The heels give him an advantage, but if he were to take them off, this john would definitely be taller than him by at least an inch.

Sensing Samantha’s anxiousness, the john grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers together. Samantha looks at him and he looks back.

“ I’ll make this quick,” He tugs on his hand and they enter the lobby. There’s no one at the front desk, but Samantha is conscientious of the security games. He hangs his head and makes sure that his wig keeps his face hidden from any hotel patrons or employees. They enter the elevator and Samantha doesn’t see what floor the john presses, but it isn’t look before they’re on the floor with the doors opening.

The john leads Samantha out and takes him to the end of the hallway where his hotel room is at. He swipes his card key against the lock and opens the door.

He holds the door open for Samantha and the prostitute steps inside.

The room is the standard upgrade suite fair. There’s one king size bed done with standard, white sanitized sheets and down comforter. A business corner untouched, a seat with a ottoman, and a dresser with nothing on it save for the room service menu, the HBO schedule for the month, things to do in town, and the television. There’s no suitcase, no briefcase, nothing indicating that this room is being used for anything other than a place to spend the night.

Samantha chuckles. Of course. He’s hiding his tracks. He feels the john walk up behind him and not move. He can feel the heat radiating off of his body, smell his expensive cologne mixed with aftershave. It causes his hair to stand from the proximity.

“ What are we going to do tonight?” Samantha asks. The man steps around her and walks over to the mini bar next to the dresser. He takes out two wine bottles. White wine, from the looks of it.

“ Well, figured we hit the bar. Get drunk… talk about a few things.” He twists the cap and hands Samantha the open bottle. He takes it and holds in his hand as he watches him open the other bottle. The john lifts the bottle up, “ Cheers.”

He drinks straight from the bottle. Downs the wine completely and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when done. Samantha drinks his wine, but with a little bit more care for his lipstick. The john takes his bottle and tosses the two in the trash.

“ If you want a therapist, I’m sure you can find a more qualified person in the phone book.” Samantha says dryly. The john chuckles.

“ Don’t you want a break tonight?”

“ I’m a prostitute. Fucking is the job description, not therapy sessions.” Samantha watches as the man sits down on the bed. He shrugs out of his jacket and undoes his tie. “ Unless you don’t want to pay for services in which I’ll charge you an hourly rate for wasting my time.”

Samantha crosses his arms and cocks his hip to the side. The john sighs as he pulls his tie off and tosses it onto the floor. He starts untying his dress shoes and does the same, tossing them somewhere in the room unceremoniously.

“ One twenty five for a fuck,” Samantha says as the john unbuttons his blue oxford shirt. “ Seventy for a blowjob, hundred if you want me to swallow. Forty for a handjob. Kinky shit depends on what you want done but I don’t role play so don’t expect me to start calling you daddy, especially someone who looks like they’re barely out of college.”

The prostitute can't tell if he's listening. He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“ I’m Ryan,” The john says lightly, lifting up his head to look at Samantha. “ Ryan is my name. And your name? Jamie? Cory?”

“ Samantha.” He looks at him blankly. “ Thanks for the gender ambiguous names.”

“ Well, it would be rude to assume.” The shirt falls off his shoulders, revealing smooth skin with speckles of freckles and beauty marks. He pulls his ribbed tank top out of his pants and over his head. He bunches the two and drops them onto the floor.

“ You’re a skinny thing.” Samantha remarks with amusement. Ryan looks at Samantha and rolls his eyes.

“ And you don’t fair any better.”

“ So what’s the order.”

“ We’ll see how the night goes.”

Ryan stands up from the bed and unbuckles his pants. Samantha watches him carefully. He takes note of his hands and fingers. They’re long and willowy and he wonders if he’ll use them. Probably not; they never do. His slacks fall to the ground and he steps out of them. He can see the outline of his flaccid cock in his boxer briefs and licks his lips.

Maybe it won’t be so bad afterall.

“ How are we supposed to do anything if you’re gonna keep wearing that cheap Uma Thurman costume.”

“ Excuse me.”

“ The wig. The skirt. I guess you couldn’t find a white blouse--”

“ You talk too much.” Samantha says exasperatedly.

He unzips his skirt and pulls it down, over his hips, and lets it drops to the floor. He steps out of it and works on his blouse. Ryan simply watches him, no shock, no disgust… not even an ounce of intrigue at watching a crossdressing man undress in front of him. Usually the johns tell him to keep his clothes on, a bunch of closeted gays unwilling to come to terms to seeing a cock. The blouse falls off his shoulders to the floor, leaving him in nothing more than the black lingerie and his heels.

Ryan slowly walks to him.

“ Take off your shoes.” He says lowly. Samantha doesn’t hesitate and does exactly what he says. Suddenly, he’s no longer than taller than him, barely eyelevel. The proximity to Ryan sends a chills of excitement throughout his body. This is a first -- never has he ever experienced a client that has taken the time out to treat him like a person.

He bites his lower lip when he feels Ryan’s hands on his body. His fingers trace the pulse point on his neck, upwards, upwards, over his chin, to his cheek… behind his ear. His fingers cup the back of his neck and he gently pulls him close into a kiss. Its simple and chaste. Just lips upon lips, moving softly against each other.

Ryan breaks the kiss and pulls away, enough so that their noses are brushing against each other and their lips are only inches apart.

“ I never done this before,” Ryan says. His breathing is growing heavy and Samantha can hear the slight nervousness layered in the tone of his voice. “ So I don’t know what I want.”

“ Is this your first time? You never fucked a man before?” Samantha asks. Ryan shakes his head.

“ I never done _this_.”

Picking up a prostitute is what he is implying. Samantha leans in, his mouth slightly opened, and encourages Ryan for a kiss. He complies, kissing him openly. His tongue moves against his slowly, both tasting each other. Samantha uses her hand to feel Ryan’s body; his arms, his chest, stomach… Every bit of skin available to him. His hand travels lower and lower until it brushes against his cock through the cotton of his boxer briefs.

Ryan groans against his mouth and rubs against his hand, vying for the friction. He pulls away, biting Samantha’s lower lip and sucking on it before letting it go with a pop.

“ Get on the bed.” Ryan says with a slight hitch in breath.

Samantha nods and moves over to the bed. He sits down and crosses his legs, hands pressed against the sheets of the bed. Ryan watches him and licks his slightly swollen lips. The prostitute is beautiful; the androgyny adding a certain quality of allure and temptation. He's slept with men before, multiple times, in the past. Quick hook ups via dating apps and at bars. Most of the time it's a few beers and a few hours at a nearby hotel. If there isn't any time for the commitment, a handjob in a bathroom stall.

But never in his life has he ever picked up a prostitute.

It doesn't seem like the first thing one would think of when they are out in a business trip. It's not like businessmen step off of planes and enter airports thinking, ‘ Ah, yes, time to find a prostitute and fuck their brains out’. No, it isn't that. Ryan just wanted to do something completely anonymously. No worries of being outed as a gay man because a guy he met off of Tinder isn’t happy with things simply being a one-night stand.

He can't even count the amount of men he's paid off just to keep their mouths shut. Five? Six? Ten? The number is getting higher and higher. It should be an incentive for him to stop but it’s not that easy.

Sacrifices have to be made, especially when one is in the running of becoming the next CTO of a financial Fortune 500 company with strong political ties to the Republican Party. Can’t be out, proud and openly gay when the man signing his checks is secretly funding Washington lobbyists with interests that stand against everything that embodies him as a person. It also doesn’t help when that man is actually his grandfather.

But this entire situation is good. Yeah, there’s a prostitute sitting on his bed, but at least this prostitute doesn’t come with the baggage a hook up would have loaded with. Ryan will fuck this prostitute, pay him whatever he wants, and walk into that meeting tomorrow rejuvenated with the determination of sealing that deal and getting that promotion.

“ Take the garter off,” He says. Samantha doesn’t question the request and stands up to remove the black garter belt. Slowly, he unclips it from his stockings and pulls it down, over round hips and to the floor at the foot of the bed.  

Ryan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he looks at Samantha. He wonders if he should tell the man to take off the panties or should he let him keep them on and just fuck him with them on. Is he discovering a kink he did not know he had?

“ How long are you gonna stand there and stare?”

Samantha’s voice takes him out of his thoughts.

“ T-take off the, uh, panties. Leave the stockings on and get on the bed. There’s lube in the top drawer of the nightstand.” Samantha raises an eyebrow. “ Condoms too.”

“ Oh, so you planned this out tonight.” He says as he takes off the lingerie.

“ Y-yeah, I did.”

Samantha isn't hard but he he isn't flaccid either. It's still a nice cock to Ryan. Decently sized, nice and thick. He starts to stroke himself through his underwear as he imagines his mouth around it, sucking it down like a popsicle on a hot summer day. He licks his lips and walks over to Samantha.

They are only inches apart. Ryan looks at Samantha, taking in the faint speckles of freckles peaking through from under the foundation on his face. The pale smoothness of his skin that seems to reflect someone that has money to keep his skin in a smooth, blemish free condition. There's no scars or markings of intravenous drug use, either. If it wasn't for the outfit, he wouldn't have thought this man was a prostitute.

Ryan slowly gets on his knees. Samantha stares at him, speechless at what is happening. He's slept with a lot of men, never did any of them ever get in their knees and try to suck him off. That is what he's supposed to do. Not receive pleasure, only give pleasure. Ryan takes Samantha’s cock into his hand and brings his lips to the head. He places a light kiss on top and pulls away.

“ I want to suck you off.” He says in an almost whisper, as if the cock in his hands is the most alluring thing he has ever held. “ Can I do that?”

Samantha doesn't know what to say. He hisses when he feels Ryan tongue against the slit of his cock, lapping at it, before putting his mouth around the tip. His breath hitches and he gasps. Oh. Oh. Oh this is different. He did not expect this.

Ryan pulls away, slowly stroking him with his hand, his voice thick, “ Can I?”

“ Y-yeah,” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “ Yeah.”

Ryan takes him into his mouth. His hand working where he couldn’t not reach, up and down, using the saliva as some crude substitute for lube as his head bobbed greedily. A groan comes from deep within Samantha’s throat as he succumbs to the pleasure of having his cock in the warm mouth of this man in front of him. His fingers twitch; he doesn’t know if he should dig his fingers in the back of this executive’s head and force him on his cock and fuck him senseless or be a good prostitute and just stand there. Even if he is on the receiving end, who knows what gets a john off.

Long fingers press themselves into Samantha’s hips as Ryan steadies himself. He relaxes his throat and takes him deep.

“ Holy _fuck._ ” Samantha groans as he feels his cock slip into Ryan’s throat. Unconsciously, his right hand grabs the back of Ryan’s head, fingers weaving in his hair and gripping on to his scalp. He holds them there, and Ryan doesn’t protest; he simply works his mouth and tongue. He moans from the contact, the vibrations against his throat only adding to the pleasure.

Samantha looks down at the man between his legs and notices that he’s looking up at him. Large, light brown eyes staring up into his dark brown ones. It’s almost obscene the way his mouth moves against his cock, how swollen his lips are, and the amount of saliva gathering around his cock and coating his lips.

He’s close. He knows he’s close. He lets his hold go on Ryan and grips on to his wig as Ryan pulls away from his dick with a pop. Samantha brings a hand to his neck, breathing heavily as he feels Ryan’s tongue lap away at the head, tasting the precum leaking from the tip.

“ You taste so good,” Ryan says as he pulls away. His hand strokes Samantha gently.

“ You do this often?”

“ Surprisingly, no I don't.” Ryan stands up and leans forward, placing a kiss on Samantha’s lips. The prostitute responds instantly, encouraging Ryan to open his mouth and deepen the kiss.

The john does. Tongues moving against each other in a slow, erotic display. Samantha can taste himself on him; the salty taste of precum making him moan against his mouth. His hands reach for Ryan’s hips. Fingers trail along the elastic band and he grabs them, pulling them down without protest from the man. His erection springs free and Ryan breaks the kiss, enough only to step out of his underwear.

Ryan presses his body against Samantha's, his hard cock brushing up against his own.

“ Get on the bed. Condoms are in the night stand. Put it on.”

This is different.

Samantha nods. Why say no? If this guy wants to get fucked by a guy in a wig and stockings, so be it. Whatever floats their boat as they say.

He walks over to the nightstand and opens the top drawer. Inside lies a package of condoms, lube, and a Bible. His hand reaches into the nightstand, but he hesitates. He looks at the Bible and slowly inhales. He quickly grabs the package of condoms and the lube, slamming the drawer shut with a silent exhale.

Samantha tosses the lube on the bed. He rips a condom off the package and rips the foil open. Taking the condom out the package, he rolls it onto his dick. He looks at the bed and doesn't see Ryan on it. He looks at the foot and sees Ryan standing there, stroking his hardened cock.

It's a pity, Samantha thinks, that he isn't being fucked tonight. It's a nice sized dick and it probably would have felt amazing to be filled with it.

“ Lie down on the bed.”

“ Aren't you the power bottom.” Samantha remarks dryly as he gets on the bed. Ryan laughs.

“ I wouldn’t want to call it that,” He says as he gets on the bed, “ But I mean, I paid for a service.”

He moves on top of Samantha, knees on either side of his thighs. He grabs the bottle of lube off the bed and pops open the cap with his thumb. He squeezes the water-based gel onto his fingers.

“ Touché.”

“ You know, I never done this before.” Ryan begins as he stands up on his knees on top of the bed. “ I don't like others touching me. They know who I am so I don't want them having that power over me. I want to remind them who's in control. Who has the power.”

“ So you're an arrogant top?”

Ryan brings his slackened fingers behind him, he slips them between his asscheeks, up against his hole.

“ I'm neither. You're just a nameless prostitute and I'm just another john who doesn’t want to be in control.”

He slips his fingers in and hisses from the intrusion. He leans forward, resting his free hand against Samantha’s hip, giving himself better access as he finger fucks himself.

Samantha takes the bottle of lube, opening it, and pouring some of it onto his hand. He sits up, grabbing a hold of Ryan’s cock and starts to stroke him. Firm, quick strokes that make Ryan moan and press further against his fingers. Samantha leans forward and kisses Ryan, slipping his tongue into his open mouth.

“ F-fuck,” Ryan groans as he breaks the kiss, pulling away enough so their lips hover against each other. “ G-get on your back.”

Samantha lies down, letting Ryan go. He clutches the pillow above his head, the other spreading the leftover lube over the condom as he watches Ryan pull his fingers out his ass and move up, positioning himself above Samantha’s pelvis. Samantha lets go of his dick as Ryan grabs his dick and holds it, guiding it towards his hole. Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, he squints and breathes through his nose as he lowers himself onto Samantha’s dick. It fucking burns, but he loves it, his feet curling as he takes him inch by inch.

It makes him feel like he’s alive. That he’s finally living in this very moment. All he needs to do is concentrate on taking him in, relaxing his muscles, and finally just letting go on all the bullshit in his life. Focus. Focus on the pleasure. Focus on riding this prostitute’s cock. Focus on coming undone.

Samantha groans once he’s completely sheathed inside of Ryan.

The executive’s heart is beating heavily against his chest. He can feel the blood pumping throughout his body, the intrusion awakening every nerve ending throughout. He looks up at the ceiling and sucks in a breath as he tries to settle himself. His hands press against the flat plains of Samantha’s chest, his thumbs moving in half circles over the heated skin.

“ You… okay?” Samantha asks.

Ryan nods his head,” Y-yeah. I’m fine. I just… I just gotta… I need to relax. Okay? I gotta… fucking relax myself.”

“ Alright… just…” He licks his lips. “ Fuck, you’re just so tight… I’m not gonna last with you-- _fuck_.”

Ryan rises up experimentally. He lifts his hips, Samantha’s dick slipping out, until he lowers himself again with a slap of his ass to Samantha’s hips. They both let out a loud moan from the friction. If Ryan didn’t make sure that room next door was empty when he booked the room earlier that afternoon, he is certain that people on the other side of that wall would have heard them.

He starts to move his hips, riding Samantha’s cock with a growing confidence. The burning sensation now replaced with the pleasure of being stretched out, filled up, and having a cock moving in and out. He tries to maintain pace, not wanting to go too fast, but not wanting to go too slow either. He tries to keep silent, his hands moving all over Samantha’s body: His chest, his stomach, hips… Anything to keep his grip as he ground himself against the man beneath him.

Not waiting to for a cue, Samantha starts moving his hips. Rising up and meeting Ryan thrust for thrust.

“ Fucking hell, you’re… so damn tight….” Samantha groans. His lube slicked hand grabs Ryan’s cock and he starts stroking him. Ryan doesn’t stop him, he simply increases his pace, trying to chase the pleasure.

“ Hit up, _fuck_ , just… R-right-- _there_!” Ryan moans loudly once the prostitute hits his prostate.

Samantha lets Ryan’s cock go, placing his hands on his thighs and holding himself there as their speed increases. The bed creaks from the frantic activities; the headboard bangs against the wall. Bang, bang, bang. Skin slaps against skin. The slick, wet sound of lube squishing under pressure. It’s an obscene soundtrack to an illicit hookup in an expensive hotel. One refuses to make a sound, involuntary whines slipping from his mouth each time pleasure rips through his body. The other curses and mumbles incoherently in a litany. Words of encouragement, words of praise.

“ I-I’m not gonna make it,” The prostitute says as he grips the sheets of the bed. Ryan grabs his biceps, pulling on them to force Samantha to sit up. Without hesitation, Samantha follows Ryan’s lead and sits up, the position changing ever so slightly but it's enough to have Ryan throw his head back and moan loudly.

There. Right there.

Samantha leaves an open mouth kiss against Ryan’s neck. He laps at the sweat slicked skin, tasting the saltiness of his skin mixed with sweat. His mouth travels up, up, up. Over his jawline, the side of his face, until he kisses Ryan with an open mouth. Ryan obliges him, allowing Samantha to fuck his mouth with his tongue. He pulls away, a trail of saliva hanging between their lips. He leans his forehead against Ryan’s, panting as feels the burning pressure build up deep within.

“ I-I’m … I’m gonna come… _Fucking hell--_ I’m not gonna make it.” Samantha says between pants. The synthetic black hair of his wig sticks to his wet, sweat slick skin. His eye makeup is smeared, the red rouge smeared over swollen, plump lips. He feels a hand come up behind his head and tug on his wig. Another tug and it comes sliding off of his head. Without protest, Samantha let’s Ryan pull off the wig cap.

Short, damp black hair springs free. Ryan’s fingers entangle themselves in the short locks, his fingers holding his head close to his.

“ Come for me,” Ryan whispers encouragingly. “ Come for me.”

This is probably the most intimate experience he’s ever had with another man as a Samantha. He can’t even process what is happening; this touching, this kissing, this close proximity to another person. He feels, almost, human. Desired. Wanted.

It feels like a stretched coil springing free from within when he finally comes undone. His body clenches, he freezes, dipping his face in the crook of Ryan’s neck as he releases his seed into the condom with a loud grunt. He bites the skin there, as he rides out the orgasm. Ryan doesn’t move, he just sits on him, breathing heavily. His body shakes as he feels the condom inside be filled with the hot, thick semen. He licks his lips and sucks in a breath.

Samantha slowly lifts his head from Ryan’s shoulder. They’re looking at each other; both visibly wrecked. One can’t stop shaking, the other looks thoroughly fucked and struggling to come down. Ryan lifts himself off of Samantha on shaking thighs. He steadies himself, hands on Samantha’s shoulders, as he feels Samantha’s spent dick slip out of him. He winces as his thick head slips from his hole, too fast for his stretched muscles to accommodate to.

“ Let me suck you off,” Samantha breaths heavily as he takes off his condom. He ties the end of it with shaky hands and tosses it the trash can nearby the nightstand. Ryan nods, unable to formulate words. Samantha changes positions, getting on his hands and knees as he grabs the base of Ryan’s cock, bringing the hardened member to his lips.

He mouths the tip, licking the precum, before taking him in. He doesn’t gag, doesn’t choke as he deepthroats Ryan. His head bobs up and down as he blows Ryan. He reaches one hand behind Ryan, inserting two fingers into his lube slicked asshole. He fingers him, fingers crooking enough to hit the man’s prostate as he sucks, licks, and takes Ryan deep in his throat.

“ Shit. Shitshit.” Ryan groans. “ I-I’m gonna come.”

Hot white ribbons of cum shoot out into Samantha’s throat. He pulls back, letting the semen land on his tongue. Ryan curses as he comes undone, fingers weaving through Samantha’s hair. He falls onto his haunches as Samantha releases his dick. He swallows the cum without hesitation, leaning down to lap at Ryan’s softening cock greedily, cleaning him.

He sits up and kisses Ryan. They kiss and kiss, tasting each other and moaning. Ryan breaks the kiss, his body still shaking, as he slowly moves to get off the bed. His body aches, his ass is swollen, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to walk out of this hotel room tonight without giving away what had just happened in that room.

But it was worth. Oh, was it worth it. He feels so relaxed, so good. He feels like he can take over the world.

It’s great to feel fucked.

“ I.. gotta pay ya, r-right?” Ryan studders as he slowly walks around the room, looking for his pants. Samantha nods slowly, licking his swollen lips. “ How much?”

“ I… don’t know.”

Ryan picks up his pants and takes out a wallet. He opens it up, revealing healthy stack of bills, “ How’s two hundred?”

“ Fine. Yeah. Whatever.”

They dress in silence. Samantha doesn’t bother with the panties or garter belt; he simply puts the skirt and blouse back on and shoves the lingerie in a dry cleaning bag he found in the closet.  He tosses the two hundred in there as well. He slips on his heels as he watches Ryan tuck his shirt into his pants. He looks thoroughly fucked; there’s a bruise slowly appearing against his neck. His hair is a frazzled mess and his lips are so swollen.

If he has anything going on tomorrow, there’s no way he’s going to be able to hide what he just did, Samantha thinks sardonically.

“ Is there anywhere you need to be? Like a… corner or something?” Ryan asks as he pops his collar and begins to tie his tie. Samantha purses his lips and crosses his arms.

“ Just take me back to the Sunset Motel off of Cornell Avenue.”

He pulls the knot up and flips the collar down, “ Fine. Sunset Motel it is.”

Samantha stands up and picks his wig up off the bed along with his wig cap. He’s never had a john rip off of his wig before. If this was a normal situation, he would have stopped the guy before he had the chance to. Though, there was something different about tonight. He just wanted to be closer, perhaps. But now he looks less like Samantha and more like that closeted rich boy with smeared makeup in a skirt.

He slightly frowns and shoves the wig into the bag along with the clothes and cash.

“ Let’s go.” Samantha says. “ We’re done.”

##

He shakes his hands. Once. Twice. Four times. The nail polish remover stinks and the nail polish isn’t coming off like he had expected. The bottle says that it's specifically formulated for gel-based acrylics and yet there’s still traces of red polish near the cuticles of his nails.  He curses and tosses the pink and red stained cotton ball in the trash.

The bathroom is large. Double sinks. A roman tub. A glass shower with a multi pressure shower head. A pristine Toto toilet in the corner with all the buttons and gizmos one could expect from a smart toilet. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Lifting his head, he checks his neck. A bruise near his Adam’s apple. He sighs in frustration and grabs his make up kit. He pulls out his concealer and begins to cover up the yellowish-green bruise forming.

Once pleased with his work, he leaves his bathroom and crosses his bedroom into his walk in closet. Business suits line the racks in blues, greys, and blacks. Beneath the suits are numerous well polished, expensive dress shoes. But, on the top racks in the far corner of his closet is a box with the name ‘SAMANTHA’ written in large letters. Next to that box is a wig-head with a black wig. The styrofoam impression of a nameless woman stares blankly at him. He stares back at it as he stands in his closet naked.

“ Good night, Samantha.” He says quietly before he looks for a suit to wear and shoes to match.

Blue suit. White oxford. Blue tie. Black shoes. Black socks. He slips them on without much care -- his body working instinctively. First socks, then the shirt, followed by his pants and tie. The last piece to finish his outfit is the shoes. He ties them slowly, fingers running against the smooth leather surface the shoes. They feel different than the cheap pair of pumps he wore just last night. Bigger, softer.

He steps in front of the full size mirror in his bedroom. He adjusts his tie. Smooths his hands over his suit and runs his hands over his styled, combed back hair.

This is Brendon. Serious. Determined. Bland. A Copycat.

And he’s next in line to take over the seventy five year old Urie Smith and Partners advertising agency.

Every morning, he gets into a car driven by his personal assistant. He arrives at his family’s company at the heart of downtown at nine o’clock in the morning, prompt. He greets the employees, a smile on his face as he gets inside the elevator and rides it to the executive level. His assistant reads his schedule off of her iPad as he half listens, wanting to just hide in his office and not come out for the rest of the day.

“ … And you have a meeting at ten this morning with a… Ross Investments Securities and Holdings. “ His assistant tells him with a dry voice. Brendon perks up at the announcement from his seated position at his desk.

“ Wait, what. When did that get… When did I get put on that meeting? Wasn’t that Spencer’s client?”

His assistant looks at Brendon with a blank expression, “ Mister Smith is out sick. Did you not forget? Food poisoning from his business trip to India. Your father put you on this project last week.”

Brendon runs a hand down his face, “ I... swear to god I had no idea about this.”

She rolls her blue eyes, “ I figured. Mister Smith did as well. He set everything up for you and the presentation is located in the Dropbox.”

“ Oh, man, Spence… what would I do without you.” Brendon says in relief to himself as he logs onto his computer and search for the files. Hearing what he said, his assistant sighs.

“ Not much, Mister Urie. You’d be amazed at how much is due to that man’s genius.”

Brendon looks up at her from over his computer monitor, “ With how snippy you are this morning, Sarah, I’d think you have a crush on me.”

The woman huffs, but it doesn’t hide the blush on her cheeks, “ You are too arrogant for me to waste my time on.”

Brendon chuckles and goes back to searching for the presentation. He quickly finds it, mentally sending a thank you to Spencer as he goes over the notes his partner left him. With an hour to spare, it is more than enough time for him to figure out what the client is about and who they are. He goes over the presentation -- the agency is trying to rebrand themselves. They want to enter a new market, a younger one with a focus on digital cryptocurrencies. He purses his lips. Most of it goes over his head. He can see why Spencer was on this project.

But where he lacks in financial smarts, he makes it up with charisma and creativity.

The representatives of the Ross Investments Securities and Holdings company arrive exactly at ten o’clock in the morning. They enter the meeting room, where Brendon was waiting for them, one by one. They’re a young group of men, around Brendon’s age, all looking like the stuffy crowd he would expect to see mulling around Wall Street. Predatory sharks looking for old people willing to give away their money to them to gamble with. He greets them, one by one, with handshakes and small conversation.  

“ I’m sorry, we’re missing one person.” One of the men say as they sit down at the table. “ He’s running a bit late.”

“ Oh?” Brendon says with a raised eyebrow. “ Shall we begin or do you wish to wait?”

“ He’s the VP of Internet Marketing, so I think we should wait.”

“ George, right?”

“ Yeah.”

Brendon nods, opting not to sit down at the table as they wait for the ringleader of this meeting. He paces at the head of the table, playing with the end of his tie, as the group of three men converse quietly amongst each other. He can’t make out the conversations but from what he could gather, it's all about a promotion. Interesting.

The board room door opens.

“ I am so sorry I am late.”

Brendon stops pacing. He remembers that voice. He slowly lifts his head and looks at the man standing in front of the board room door being closed by one of the office secretaries. For some reason, it's hard for him to breath. It’s like he forgot to breath. There’s no way that _john_ is the VP of Internet Marketing at this this company. No way. He said his name was Ryan and the guy they were waiting for was named George. George Ross III. _No Ryan_.

And yet, standing right there is Ryan the _fucking_ _john_.

It seems like the shock is mutual because Ryan, or is it George, suddenly forgets to speak as he finally acknowledges Brendon’s presence in the boardroom. He tilts his head slightly to the left and opens his mouth, but whatever words that threaten to fall from that talented tongue fail to do so as Ryan recovers from his shock and smiles. He walks up to Brendon, briefcase in hand, and extends his other hand out.

“ George Ross.” He says, a slight edge to his voice. Brendon takes his hand and shakes it.

“ Brendon Urie.” He replies, his grip suddenly tight around Ryan’s hand. The older man raises an eyebrow and as if catching himself, Brendon release Ryan’s hand. He looks at the other men sitting at the table and, thank God, they don’t seem to notice anything strange. “ Let’s get this party on the road!”

It was the worst hour and a half of his life.

He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t concentrate. Whenever he heard Ryan’s voice, his mind immediately drifted back to the previous night where all he could hear was that man’s moans and whines as he rode his cock. Then, quickly followed by the embarrassment of the knowledge in knowing that the man sitting at that table watching him present this marketing campaign proposal to them knows he’s a cross dressing prostitute in this city’s skid row.

This is not good.

This is going to end badly.

He pours himself another serving of water from the water cooler in the hallway outside of the board room. His hands are shaking and some water spills onto his hands. Fuck. _Fuck_. If he opens his mouth -- if that fucking twink opens his goddamn mouth about his second life he’s going to kill him.

He will kill him.

“ Hey.”

Brendon drops his paper cup. He turns around and sees Ryan standing next to him with an indifferent expression. Cursing, Brendon bends down to pick up the cup and throw it in the trash. Ryan watches him with his hands in his pocket.

“ You okay?”

“ I’m _fine_.” Brendon grits out as he stands up. “ Do you have any questions about the proposal, Mister Ross?”

Ryan looks down and shakes his head as he chuckles, “ This is so _fucking_ awkward.”

“ I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ You look better without the wig.” Ryan whispers. He looks at Brendon and nods his head off the side. “ Let’s talk. I think… we should talk.”

Brendon’s jaw tightens but he concedes anyway, motioning for Ryan to follow him. They walk down the hallway until they come to a closed door at the end of the hallway. Brendon swipes his badge over the lock and opens the door. He holds it open for Ryan to enter and follows behind him. The door closes and Brendon flips on the light switch.

The room is an unused office now just filled with random storage. A christmas tree in a corner, halloween decorations in boxes sit on top of a desk with other boxes of random stuff. There’s even an easter bunny suit hanging off of a rack. It’s definitely not a place Ryan would imagine he’d be in to talk about _that_.

“ Your name is George.” Brendon says accusingly. Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“ Yes?”

“ You said it was Ryan.”

“ Yes.” He scratches the side of his face. “ It’s my middle name. George _Ryan_ Ross.”

Brendon sighs loudly, “ _Fuck_ . Why didn’t you say _anything_ … Do… Do you know what type of shit I’m going to be in if this gets out?” He holds his hand out in front of him. “ No, don’t… Do you know what will happen to this _company_? My fucking name is on the company header. Jesus Christ, my father is going to kill me. He’s going to disown me. Holy fuck. I'm about to be excommunicated from the church for this. Oh, Jesus. I’m so fucked---”

“ Can you shut up.” Ryan says flatly, cutting Brendon off. The younger man looks at Ryan and his hand falls to his side. “ Why do you think I did what I did last night?”

“ You’re a sick fuck? You’re cheating on your wife?”

“ I am a homosexual from a highly conservative family. I sleep around with men on the downlow because doing it openly would fuck me over. Judging by your reaction, I guess you’re dealing with the same problem.” Ryan pauses and then smirks, “ Though, I definitely don’t solve it with prostitution though I guess whatever you got going on there is a lot more intense.”

Brendon pinches the bridge of his nose.

“ I started doing it a few months ago. Maybe a half year ago. I just got tired. Tired of keeping up an image, of living this life.”

“ So you decided to become a prostitute.” Ryan clicks his tongue.

“ Samantha is…” Brendon sighs and walks over to the desk. He sits down on top of it and crosses his legs. “ Samantha has control. Samantha lives dangerously. Each night I go out there as Samantha, I feel alive. I’m dead when I’m Brendon.” Brendon pauses, “ You know, it’s a drug. An addiction. It’s hard to explain. I know it's not healthy but it’s not like someone like me can just go talking about this shit to a doctor.”

“ Isn’t this funny? Two grown men, heirs to companies, locked in a closet talking about their gay problems.”

“ There’s nothing funny about this.”

“ Anyone else know? About Samantha?”

“ Does anyone else know about your sex tourism?”

Touche, friend, touche.

Ryan approaches Brendon. The younger man’s breath hitches when he watches Ryan’s hand reach up and brush his cheek with the back of his hand.

“ You’re cute, you know. And we’re pretty fucked up. Maybe what happened today is like some divine intervention.”

“ You’re fucking crazy, did you know _that_?”

“ Says the rich boy with the dual personalities. I’m going to kiss you now, Brendon. I’m going to kiss you and then we’re going to go out tonight.”

Brendon licks his lips.

“ Fine.”

Ryan lowers his lips onto Brendon and kisses him softly. Just a press of lips against lips. He pulls away just as quickly as the kiss lasted and smiles. Brendon opens his eyes and looks into light brown with speckles of green and yellow. Feeling embolden, Brendon wraps his hand around the back of Ryan’s head and pushes him forward to meet him again. This time, he opens his mouth and Ryan complies, slipping his tongue into his mouth.

Tongues move slowly against each other as the two make out in that makeshift storage room. Ryan fists Brendon’s jacket to support himself as Brendon rakes his hand through the short hairs at Ryan’s nape. It’s only when they need to break for air do they stop kissing. Ryan places a few open mouth kisses against Brendon’s cheek as the younger man throws his head back, giving the older man better access at his throat.

“ Ross Securities will accept your proposal,” Ryan says against Brendon’s skin as he trails his lips against the side of his face. “ I have no idea what you were rambling about in there because it’s really fucking hard to concentrate knowing I fucked that mouth last night.”

“ Well, the feeling’s mutual.” Brendon says lightly. Ryan pulls away and smirks.

“ Bring Brendon this time.” He brushes a few strands away from Brendon’s forehead. “ I want to see what Brendon can do. I’ll give your assistant my number.”

Ryan walks backwards to the door, mouthing ‘call me’ before turning around. He opens the door and leaves.

A month later, Brendon bids farewell to Samantha by dropping the box in the trash can with Ryan’s arms wrapped around his waist, his shirtless chest pressed against his back, and his chin on his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> this fanfic was totally 100% inspired by the video and song [sweat by the all american rejects](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BsRrpW2vDc). i love that song. i love that video. i did not do it justice. i am sorry. but i just wanted to write this lol. i had to get it out.
> 
> i dont like how this ended. lol 
> 
> thanks for reading! kudos and comments always appreciated <3
> 
> tumblr me @ aya-mirin


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